The Golden Thread
by Scribbles-by-Kate
Summary: RumBelle AU inspired by Cinderella. Rumplestiltskin is a humble spinner, Belle is the princess of the realm. They meet one day by chance and again at her coming of age ball, but Belle doesn't even know his real name. When he leaves before the ball is over, he leaves a clue to his identity behind. Belle will not stop until she finds her prince, much to her father's displeasure.
1. Chapter 1

I saw Disney's remake of _Cinderella_ and thought about how the idea could work for RumBelle with the roles reversed, so here we are! Hope you enjoy :)

_Once Upon a Time_ is the property of Adam Horowitz, Eddy Kitsis, and ABC.

**The Golden Thread**

_Chapter One_

Rumplestiltskin had not had a particularly easy life. He'd never known his mother, he'd been abandoned by his father before he was ten years old, and the two kindly spinsters who had taken him in and taught him all he knew about spinning had died of pneumonia one particularly harsh winter, leaving him alone in the world at the age of thirteen. Things didn't get any better after that. He wasn't particularly well treated by the villagers who thought spinning was no fit profession for a man. The men made fun of him and the women were wary of him. Then there was the accident. A peddler had been going around the village, selling his wares, and had parked his cart on a steep hill above where some children were playing. Unfortunately, the cart wasn't properly secured and it came trundling fast down the hill, headed directly for the children. Rumplestiltskin had been tending his chickens at the time and saw the cart and the children and the imminent danger. Most of the children saw it too and got out of the way, but one little boy wasn't paying attention and, rather than let the cart hit the boy, Rumplestiltskin pushed him out of the way to safety. Rumplestiltskin himself bore the brunt of the collision and the cart had rolled over his leg, shattering his ankle. He walked with a limp and in varying degrees of pain from that day on.

Some of the locals began to be sympathetic, but many were still unkind. Some of the men took to calling him Spindleshanks and the name began to stick. He was no longer known as Rumplestiltskin the spinner, but as Spindleshanks the spinner. Even worse than the fact that people made fun of his injury was the fact that, because of the injury, he could no longer travel to Avonlea to sell his threads and wools and fabrics. He had made a good living for himself before the accident, but now that he could no longer travel to the kingdom's most prosperous market, where nobles had been used to flock to his stall, and from whence he would often return with his bag full of silver and his cart empty, he was beginning to slide further and further into poverty. He began to know hunger in a way that he had not known it since he was a small boy, and there were cold winter days when he had no wood to burn to heat his small home. Soon, all he had of value in the world were his spinning wheel and loom. He usually managed to scrape together just enough from selling wools and blankets at market in the next town over so that he could survive from week to week, but as months and years went by, the future looked ever bleaker.

It was somewhat surprising, then, that a man who had been so beaten down by the world had never spoken a word in anger or raised a fist in retaliation. The circumstances of his life were such that he might perhaps have been justified in lashing out. The circumstances of his life would have made many another man or woman bitter and vengeful, but not Rumplestiltskin. He was, at his core, a kind, decent, honest man, and he never lost those qualities, even when the world and the people in it seemed determined to break him. He never lamented his troubles in the way many others lamented far more minuscule cares: he simply bore them day after day, quietly, never letting his burden show. He never rose to the bait when the younger, more able-bodied men taunted him mercilessly. He never retaliated , never fought back. On the contrary, he was kind and considerate, always sharing what meagre rations he had with the less fortunate. His was a truly good heart, and his soul was made brighter by the fact that the misery he'd known had not managed to tarnish it.

A humble man always, Rumplestiltskin had never wanted much. A warm roof over his head and enough food to fill his belly every day was all his heart desired. If, in some fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be to share his life with someone who loved him as much as he loved her, he never let himself think on it for long. That was clearly not on the cards for him, and he could not miss what he'd never had anyway. One day, though, he learned what it was that he'd been missing.

It happened that, one market day as winter was setting in, the town was busier than usual. Rumplestiltskin hoped that the increased traffic might mean more sales and even a few orders. Despite his misfortunes over the years, and despite the fact that his clients here were not as prosperous as they had been in distant Avonlea, he was still known to be a spinner and weaver of some talent: everything he produced was well made, and he usually managed at least a few sales every market day, though he wasn't making the money he once had.

It was proving to be a good day for trade. Everyone was making money and spirits were high. It seemed the brisk trade was only part of the reason for the good cheer, though: Mother Hubbard, who was tending the stall across the way from Rumplestiltskin, told him that people had turned out to see a royal procession pass by.

'They say the young princess has been touring the kingdom and will pass through on her way back to Avonlea,' she told him. 'They say she'll be of marriageable age soon and she wanted to see her kingdom before she chose a husband to help her rule it. Sounds like a wise young lady,' the old woman said approvingly: 'she'll make a fine queen, just like her mother.'

Rumplestiltskin nodded in agreement. He remembered the markets of Avonlea in the days when Queen Colette was alive. Although her husband was ruler, it was the wise and clever queen who ensured the kingdom's prosperity. After she died, the land's fortunes waned somewhat, but perhaps the young princess and whoever she chose for a husband would be able to bring the kingdom back to its old glory again.

'It will be a bit of excitement for the children anyway,' he said, smiling.

'You must have seen much grandeur at Avonlea,' Mother Hubbard suggested.

He nodded. 'It's a very fine city. I'll wager there's no finer city in any realm.'

'No, indeed,' she agreed emphatically, and smiled kindly. 'Well, you'll shortly see a little of that grandeur when the princess' procession passes.'

Rumplestiltskin said nothing, but he had no intention of going to watch the procession. Being caught in the crush held no appeal for him. No, he'd done a good trade today: he would take his earnings and make his way homeward.

He was doing just that, turning onto the main thoroughfare through town, when he saw two men he knew from his home village. Jones and Nottingham were two of his cruellest tormentors, but today they'd found another victim, a poor old woman, who looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Jones and Nottingham were tossing a piece of bread back and forth between them, laughing. The old woman kept reaching for the bread, but the men refused to hand it over.

After a moment or two, they got bored and walked away towards the tavern. Rumplestiltskin went to the woman, who was clearly frightened and shaken by her ordeal.

'You must be starving, ma'am,' he said. 'Here.' He signalled to the baker, whose stall was just behind them. He handed over some coins and the baker handed him out a loaf. 'Here,' Rumplestiltskin invited, 'eat, please.'

'Child, you look like you can ill afford to spare what you have yourself,' the old woman commented.

'What I have I gladly share,' he said sincerely. 'I won't see you go hungry when I have something I can give. Please,' he said, offering the bread again: 'please take it and welcome.'

She did, reaching out a bony hand and accepting the bread.

'Thank you, dear. May the gods bless you for what you've done.'

'They surely will for such a good deed,' a new voice called.

Rumplestiltskin turned quickly at the sound of the sweet voice and gasped at the sight before him.

Standing in the road, surrounded by soldiers, a smart, though far from ornate carriage waiting behind her, was a young woman dressed in a fine blue gown and a fur-trimmed cloak. Her brown curls shone in the light and she wore jewels around her neck and in her hair. She was a tiny woman, shorter than Rumplestiltskin, who wasn't tall, and the soldiers towered over her in height. There was a presence about her, though, and Rumplestiltskin knew without needing to be told who the fine lady was.

'Your highness,' he breathed, leaning on his staff as he knelt.

The old woman followed his lead, as did other people in the vicinity, all mumbling in greeting to the princess of their realm.

'No, no,' the princess called, coming forward and reaching her hands out. 'You shall not kneel,' she said. 'Stand, sir, and you, madam.'

Rumplestiltskin did as she bade him, looking in surprise into her face. And then he was utterly lost.

The princess was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her brown curls framed a heart shaped face and her clear skin glowed with health and youth and beauty. Her eyes were as blue as a summer sky and they gazed upon him with no scorn for his lowly state, but with something alien to him, something he had never seen: he thought it was respect. Her smile was gentle, almost tender, and he knew he would never forget this moment, when the fair princess, so high above him in stature, had looked at him as if he was someone worth looking at.

In this moment, his heart reached out to her and he knew he could never get it back again. Well, that was alright. It could hardly find a lovelier resting place than with her. Now he was learning what it was to love a woman.

The princess for her part had never seen such kindness as this man had just displayed. It happened that her carriage had been coming along the road when she heard and saw the two men walking away after sharing their sport with the poor woman's bread. Her anger at that quickly turned to surprise and then pleasure when the man with the walking staff had come and bought the finest loaf and entreated the woman to take it. He looked like he could ill afford to spare the coin to buy it, and yet he'd given it gladly. The gesture touched her heart.

'Stop the carriage,' she requested.

The carriage was immediately halted and one of the footmen handed the princess down, where, flanked by her soldiers, she approved the old woman's blessing wholeheartedly.

When they knelt before her, her soul recoiled and she bade them stand. People who had suffered such hardships as they clearly had should kneel for no one.

The man looked into her face in surprise and she took the opportunity to study him more closely. He was older than her by some years. It was hard to tell exactly how many because she suspected that he wasn't as old as he appeared. He'd led a hard life, clearly: she should see it in the lines on his face and the streaks of grey in his hair. He was thin and careworn, beaten down by life, but his eyes were soft and kind, and she had long wished for such eyes in the face of the man she married. She wished for a man as generous and gentle as he, and her heart reached out to him.

She turned to the poor old woman, because she could better work out what to say to her than she could to the man.

'Madam, have you anywhere to bed down at night?' she asked solicitously.

The old woman smiled. 'Gracious lady, you are kind to ask, but I have somewhere not far off. It's small, but it suits my needs.'

'Is it warm and dry? It is almost winter: I would have you spend it comfortably.'

'Quite warm, my lady: quite dry,' the woman assured her.

'But you have not food enough,' the princess went on.

'I have been unwell and unable to earn my living of late,' the woman explained.

'You should be at your ease, madam: you have toiled enough. Will you allow me to provide for you and make you comfortable?'

'Your highness, I never expected such kindness.' The woman sounded genuinely moved.

'It is only a small token,' the princess said: 'I have so much, it makes me happy to share it.'

'Oh, it is a very great token, child,' the woman said, forgetting the proper address for a moment. 'Forgive me: I meant it is a very great token, your highness.'

The princess smiled. 'You are older and wiser than I, madam: you may address me as child and I shall take no offence.'

The woman smiled. 'May the gods bless you too, my dear.'

'They surely will for such kindness,' Rumplestiltskin said fervently, without thinking, and the princess turned her beautiful eyes on him and smiled warmly.

'Captain?' she called then, and a soldier stepped forward.

'Your highness?'

'Select one of your men to escort this lady home. See that she has enough food and that she's comfortable. We will arrange with the traders here that she is sent food and any other supplies she needs once a week.' She looked around at the gathered crowd. 'Anyone who supplies this woman will be well rewarded: you have my word,' she promised.

'Your highness,' the traders acknowledged, bowing low.

The princess was well satisfied with her plan and she turned back to the old woman, smiling.

'You will never work another day in your life,' she promised.

The old woman reached for her hand and the princess gave it gladly.

'Bless you, my dear,' she whispered, and the princess felt the benediction deep in her heart.

'And you, madam,' she returned, and saw the woman's eyes gleam bright with satisfaction.

The woman turned to Rumplestiltskin and took his hand.

'Gods bless you, lad,' she murmured, and he too felt the benediction settle in his heart.

'Gods bless you and keep you,' he returned, and, again, the old woman's eyes gleamed in satisfaction.

One of the soldiers escorted her away then and Rumplestiltskin was left with the princess, utterly at a loss for what to say.

'Good sir,' she began, 'you must let me reward you for your kindness to that poor woman.' She produced a small pouch from inside her cloak.

'F-forgive me, your highness,' he began, 'but I don't wish for compensation.'

She looked at him curiously. 'You could ill afford to buy that bread and yet you did it,' she said.

'I couldn't bear to see her hungry and I can work for my bread: others can't. If you wish to reward me, your highness, would you spare some of your gold for those who really need it?'

The princess' heart was very moved, more than she could ever tell. There was so much she longed to say, but she couldn't find the words. The one thing she could do, though, was make him a promise.

'Will you give me your hand, sir?' she asked softly, holding out hers.

Rumplestiltskin gave his hand to the princess and tried to keep from trembling as she took his hand in both of hers.

'I give you my word that I will do as you ask,' she promised and then she shocked him by dipping into a curtsey.

It was unheard of for anyone of noble blood to show such deference before a commoner and Rumplestiltskin hardly knew what to say. He did the only thing he could think of: he returned the compliment with a bow, and when he straightened up, he saw one of the soldiers' faces and knew he'd done the right thing.

'A peasant knows better than some courtiers how to be a gentleman,' the soldier said audibly and smiled a little.

The princess heard the comment too and smiled at the soldier. The soldier, Will Scarlet, had been her childhood friend and confidant. He knew better than most how very opposed she was to the divisions in class between the nobility and the peasantry and he was probably the only one who wasn't surprised when she curtseyed to the man with the staff.

'I'm a little tired of riding,' the princess said: 'would you do me the honour of walking with me a spell?'

'Of-of course, your highness,' Rumplestiltskin said, honoured and surprised by the gift of her company.

'Allow me, sir,' the soldier who had complimented his manners said, coming and taking the reins of his mule: 'he'll be safe with me for a bit.'

'Th-thank you,' Rumplestiltskin said, and he walked up to the princess, who smiled at him.

They walked side-by-side through the town and Rumplestiltskin found it very strange when people knelt and bowed their heads as they passed. Of course, it was all for the woman at his side, but he couldn't deny that a small part of him was pleased to see the astounded looks on Jones and Nottingham's faces when he and the princess passed. He didn't care how they treated him: he was used to it, but taking bread from an old woman was a new low for them, and for that, he was a little pleased to see them so dumbfounded now.

They passed out of the town and there were thankfully few people to see them now.

The princess sighed in relief. 'That's better,' she said, smiling, 'now I can talk to you properly instead of having to worry about being a princess.' She stopped and turned to face him. 'My name is Belle,' she said, offering her hand.

He stared at her. He couldn't possibly call her by her name: it would be highly improper.

'What do they call you?' she asked, smiling when he finally took her hand. She could tell she'd shocked him.

'They…they call me…Spindleshanks, your highness,' he told her, feeling that he simply couldn't tell her his real name, and that wasn't a lie: they _did_ call him Spindleshanks.

'They call you that?' she asked: 'truly?' She was sure it was some cruel joke and she didn't like it.

'Yes,' he said, having to look away at the disapproving expression on her face.

She didn't think that that was his name, but it was the name he had given her, so it would have to do. He must have his reasons for not giving her his true name.

'I wish you'd let me give you something for your kindness to the old lady,' she entreated, putting her hand on his arm.

Her touch nearly sent him reeling and he had to cough to clear his throat.

'Your company is enough, your highness,' he told her, unable to look her in the eye.

His shyness and humility endeared him to her even more and she squeezed his arm lightly.

'Then perhaps you'd take something of mine as a token of my gratitude?' she suggested.

'I…'

'Come, I know just the thing,' she said, and she signalled for the carriage to approach.

When it came alongside, a footman opened the door and offered to hand her in, but she shook her head.

'I only want my shawl: will you hand it out, Astrid?'

'Yes, your highness,' a woman, presumably her maid, called, and then she handed the princess a piece of dark blue cloth.

'Thank you, Astrid. Come,' she said to Rumplestiltskin: 'come and I'll tell you the story.'

He followed, curiosity getting the better of him, and he watched as she turned the cloth over in her hands for a few moments.

'My mother liked to get out of the castle every now and then,' she began, 'but she hated having guards following her, so she'd disguise herself and go down amongst the people on market days. No one ever knew. My mother had a way of blending in with all walks of life so that no one ever suspected they were talking with the queen.

'One day, not long before she died, she was wandering in the market when she came across a spinner and weaver of some repute. Ladies she knew had bought his threads and cloths, and they'd been bought for her by her maids. He made the finest threads and cloths anywhere, and she had an idea.

'My mother knew that she was dying. She'd known it for a while, I think, and she wanted to make me a gift with her own hands before…before… Well, anyway, she saw a bolt of the most beautiful blue cloth and she decided to make me a shawl.'

She turned the cloth over in her hands again and Rumplestiltskin's heart began to beat fast, because he knew the rest of this story without her having to tell it. Little had he dreamed that he'd spoken with the queen that day!

'She went to speak to the spinner, but she suddenly realised she had no money with her. She apologised and turned to go, but he called her back. She said she thought he read something in her expression and when he asked her what she wanted the cloth for, she told him without hesitation. He had a way about him, she said, a good heart, and my mother was a good judge of character.

'When he heard her tale, the spinner gave her the cloth. She said she had no money with her, but he shook his head and asked her to do a good turn for someone else, and that would be payment enough. Then he gave her something else.' And now she unfolded the shawl to reveal the delicate embroidery in gold thread, the same gold thread he had given the queen more than five years ago.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?' she asked.

He nodded. 'The embroidery is very fine,' he commented.

She smiled. 'My mother had a good hand with a needle. I wish I could sew so well, but she said much of the beauty of her sewing she owed to the fine thread the spinner gave her. I've never seen thread so fine before, and everyone who sees this shawl admires it. I think no one in the kingdom can spin such fine thread, and he just gave a spool of it to my mother because she wanted to make a gift for her child before she died.

'She returned home, but she couldn't forget the spinner or his kind gesture. She tried to find him again, but he never returned to the market: we never knew why.'

That was around the time of his accident with the peddler's cart. He hadn't been back to Avonlea or made the gold thread since.

'Anyway, Mother made my shawl and, when she gave it to me, she told me the story of the generous spinner, and she told me that she hoped I would marry such an honest, kind man one day. When I saw you with the old lady, I remembered her story, so I want you to have this as a token of my appreciation and esteem.' She offered him the shawl. 'Will you take it, sir?' she asked softly.

To refuse would be unthinkable, but to accept back his own wares seemed dishonest. He hesitated.

'Please,' she entreated: 'I want you to have it. You'll make me very happy if you take it.'

'But your mother made it for you: I…'

'She would understand,' she said softly. 'Please take it,' she murmured.

Her beautiful eyes entreated him and he could not refuse.

'Thank you, your highness: I don't know what to say.'

She placed the cloth in his hands and smiled.

'Thank you,' she murmured.

'I'll…I'll treasure it always.'

'I know you will.'

She knew she had to leave: her father expected her before nightfall and she was already late, but she didn't want to go. The thought of leaving him here on the road was unbearable, but maybe if she knew she would see him again… and she knew a way that she could. She smiled at the thought.

'I must go,' she said: 'my father expects me, but I will see you again.'

He looked at her in surprise. She sounded so sure.

'You-you will?'

'Yes,' she said, 'I know it.'

He very much doubted it. She would go on her way, marry her prince, and never think of him, or, if she did, it would be fleetingly, and that was only fitting. He knew that he would think of her as a brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness and always be grateful for these moments they'd shared.

'Would you hand me in to my carriage?' she asked.

'I…would be honoured,' he said humbly.

She waited as he folded her shawl carefully into his pack and then she gave him her hand. She would never forget the gentle touch of his hand as he handed her into her carriage and she knew no one would touch her so gently again.

One of the footmen closed the door and she leaned out, reaching out her hand.

Rumplestiltskin gave her his and she squeezed his fingers gently.

'I will see you again,' she told him.

Though he didn't believe so, he nodded, and was rewarded with a smile.

She squeezed his fingers once more and then the carriage was pulling away.

She had no choice but to let go of his hand, but she held on until the last second, and she noticed that he did too. She smiled, and watched him until she could see him no longer.

Rumplestiltskin waited until the carriage was completely out of sight and then he turned and made his way slowly homeward, the docile mule following along behind.

'Well, that was rather a special day,' he murmured, and smiled to himself.

0

Belle thanked Will as he handed her down from the carriage. Her father would want to see her, but she was in no hurry. She was still thinking over the events of the afternoon and a man whose kindness would put many a courtier to shame.

As he walked beside her, Will looked over and saw that she was far away in her mind. He knew exactly where she was. If she weren't a princess, she wouldn't have come home.

He was worried about her. She had dreams that wouldn't easily be reconciled with this life. He'd known her all her life and she'd never been a conventional princess, much to her father the king's dismay. He didn't know if she could fulfil her dreams, but he loved her like a brother and he would help her try.

'Him?' he asked now, knowing she'd know what he meant.

Belle nodded emphatically. 'Him.'

He sighed. 'You don't make things easy for yourself, do you?'

She smiled. 'Easy is vastly overrated.'

'Your father won't like it,' he warned her.

'I know, but he made a promise to Mother.'

Will knew she thought that that would make everything ok, but he knew otherwise. She didn't know how difficult this was going to be, but she was his friend, and that, more than the fact that he owed her his allegiance as the princess of the realm, made him determined to help her.

**There we go: chapter one. Thanks for reading :)**


	2. Chapter 2

I realise it's been quite a while since I gave you the first chapter of this. Here's chapter two.

**The Golden Thread**

_Chapter Two_

Winter passed quietly and spring was almost over when it came time to start planning the ball that would mark Princess Belle's coming of age. Her father, King Maurice, would spare no expense: princes from realms far and wide would be invited and entertained. His daughter was a beauty, deserving of her name, and there would be several eligible and wealthy princes eager for her hand.

He worried, though. Belle was a beauty, but so headstrong. He should have expected it, of course, since her mother was the same. Colette had been sent by the gods and had been his rock for many years: he could not have navigated the affairs of the realm without her aid, but she had been…a handful. He had respected her, and held a great affection for her, and she had given him a beautiful daughter, but, gods, he hardly understood her.

She would go down among the people with no guards, she had unusual ideas about how to rule, and she insisted that no one kneel before her even though she should have accepted it as a mark of respect. She was a strange one.

He gave up trying to reason with her eventually, gave up trying to talk her out of her strange notions, even went along with some of them, to the betterment of his kingdom, he had to admit, and they got along well enough until she died, but now he saw the same tendencies in Belle: the same odd desire for _equality_.

'I don't like that they kneel, Father,' she said audibly when they were passing through the streets one day.

'Belle, hush,' he instructed.

'The peasants do more for our realm than we do,' she insisted: 'they work their fingers to the bone that we may prosper: it is we who should kneel to them.'

'This is the way it's done,' he told her firmly, and she had set her mouth into a firm line and not spoken to him for three days.

A son would be easier, he suspected: a son would understand why it needed to be as it was, but Belle was too emotional about their people, too connected with them. It also didn't help that she read voraciously about other lands and how they were ruled, just as her mother had. She came to him with ideas about councils of state and shared decision making: it boggled his mind. She read too much, and she was far too outspoken. He dreaded to think what the princes coming to the ball would say when they realised how outspoken she was. He needed to find her a husband who could restore the land's fortunes, but he feared they would all want a more docile wife, and Belle was not docile.

If that wasn't enough of a problem, there was also the issue of the promise he'd made to her mother on her deathbed.

'Grant her her choice, Maurice. I would have her marry for love. Please, promise me this last thing.'

Her eyes had so pleaded with him that he hadn't been able to find the courage to refuse her. He had agreed, and Belle knew he had. He never should have given in to her: the realm needed a wealthy prince if it was to prosper again, but there was always the chance that Belle's choice would agree with that goal. He prayed every day that it would be so. He did not want to go against his wife's wish, but if he had to…

0

Belle passed the winter and spring happily enough in her father's castle. She read and studied, and sat in sometimes when her father spoke with his advisors. She was learning as much as she could about running a kingdom. She would be queen one day and she wanted to understand the affairs of her people as best she could.

It wasn't easy. Lord Frollo, her father's chief advisor, barely tolerated her and didn't like her asking questions. Oh, he showed her due deference as his princess, but he didn't take her seriously. She was sure he felt that she didn't need to worry her pretty little head about any of the dull business of running a kingdom. The way he saw it, she'd soon have a husband who would deal with all of that. Odious man! What he seemed to forget was that her mother had had quite a hand in running this kingdom when she was alive. That was how Belle knew that a woman could wield power effectively and for the good of the realm and its people, and she was determined to follow in her mother's footsteps: she would never marry a man who would not accept her ruling equally with him.

The thought of marriage and a husband was never far from her thoughts now. It wouldn't be long now until she came of age and would have to choose a husband. There would be princes a-plenty for her to choose from, but she already knew she would have no interest in any of them. Her father hoped she would choose one at her coming of age ball, but she would have to disappoint him. She had chosen a husband alright, a prince among men, though not an anointed prince. Her father wouldn't like it, but he was bound by the promise he'd made to her mother: she was to choose for herself.

She had a plan to see her prince again: she just had to get her father to agree to it.

'What?' he asked, staring incredulously at her as she made her request.

'I want all the eligible men in the kingdom to be invited to attend,' she repeated.

'This is highly unusual, Belle,' he told her.

'Even so,' she persisted: 'this is what I want.'

Her father pressed his lips together in irritation and Belle, ignoring the beady-eyed Frollo standing by his chair, drew herself up and stood her ground.

'Father, this ball is something you want, not something I want; yet I go along with it because I know it will make you happy. All I ask is for one concession. Please, Father, it would mean a lot to me if you would give me what I ask. Why shouldn't all the eligible men be invited? They work hard to make our land prosper: they should be rewarded. Besides, it _is_ my birthday: can't I have one thing I wish for?'

The king sighed. His daughter had the same power of persuasion as her mother, and he'd learnt with Colette that the most peacable thing was to agree.

'Very well, my daughter: you shall have your wish. I will make the arrangements. We're going to need more space.'

'Thank you, Father,' Belle said, smiling and kissing his cheek.

She left quietly, but once she was out of his sight, she rushed off to find Will.

'I take it you got what you wanted,' he said, smiling when she found him patrolling in the castle grounds.

'I did,' she said triumphantly.

'Just be careful, alright. You're putting a lot into this. What if he doesn't come?'

'He will,' Belle said assuredly: 'I know he'll come.'

Will shook his head at her as she hurried off. She was so hopeful and so naive, but still, he wanted it to work out for her.

0

Rumplestiltskin passed the winter and spring quietly, going about his usual business and keeping to himself as best he could. Word had gotten back to the village about his encounter with Princess Belle and people looked at him curiously for a while, but eventually they forgot about it and went back to giving him a wide berth for the most part.

Jones and Nottingham didn't let it go, however, taking every opportunity they could to tease him. One day he made the mistake of stopping by the tavern for a pint of ale after a particularly tiring day and encountered them there — they were hardly ever anywhere else.

As soon as they saw him, they started.

'No glimpse of the fair princess today, Spindleshanks?' Nottingham called.

'You must be so disappointed,' Jones added.

'Surprised she'd even waste her breath on the likes of you.'

'Maybe she's not so discerning as she ought to be.'

'Perhaps not.' Nottingham laughed along with Jones.

Rumplestiltskin could not mistake their meaning: no one could. He turned to look at the two men, shaking with anger.

'You're speaking of the princess of this realm,' he said, unable to ignore their insinuation: 'you should show more respect.'

'She's just a woman,' Nottingham said dismissively.

'Aye, and only good for one thing,' Jones stated, smirking, and clinked his tankard against Nottingham's.

'You ought not to talk about her like that,' Rumplestiltskin insisted.

'Are you going to stop us?' Nottingham asked with a laugh.

'Course he's not: he's incapable of fighting back. Besides, he thinks the same way we do. Admit it, Spindleshanks, you wouldn't say no to a romp with such a pretty maiden.'

'Who knows, maybe she took pity on him that day in the forest,' Nottingham suggested.

'Stop it!' Rumplestiltskin shouted, rising from his seat: 'you will not say such things about the princess.'

The entire tavern fell silent, all eyes falling on Rumplestiltskin. He realised it, but he didn't back down. They could say what they wanted about him, but he would not listen to such scurrilous stories about the lovely and gracious princess.

The atmosphere grew tense, everyone waiting for a response from Nottingham and Jones, though most people sided with the spinner and were just too afraid to say it.

'The spinner's right,' the tavern owner finally said, 'and I won't have such disgusting talk in my tavern. You disgrace the memory of Queen Colette.'

There were grumbles of agreement from all around and that was the end of the matter. You would have to go very, very far to find someone who didn't hold the memory of Queen Colette sacred. She had been well loved, especially by the common people, and making such insinuations as Jones and Nottingham had made about her daughter was not to be borne.

Rumplestiltskin looked at the tavern owner. 'Thank you,' he said.

The man nodded and refilled his tankard. 'Drink up: it's on the house.'

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to protest, but the man shook his head.

'Go on: you've earned it.'

Rumplestiltskin stared at him in surprise, but then he thanked him again and drank down the ale. Then he made his way out of the tavern, and Jones and Nottingham made no nasty comment in passing, for once.

0

The shawl the princess had given to Rumplestiltskin had been hidden away in his home. No one knew about it and that was how it would stay. He thought of her often and when the memory of her sweet smile, voice, and touch washed over him, he took out the shawl and held it in his hands, and he could almost see, hear, and feel her again. The shawl even carried her scent, still, and it was glorious to feel her presence so keenly.

When he'd hidden away the shawl, he'd uncovered one remaining spool of the golden thread. He'd had some left after his final trip to Avonlea, but had forgotten all about it. He'd put this last spool in the pocket of his tunic and kept it with him always now. He kept it as a reminder of the queen who'd loved her daughter so and the princess whom he also loved.

As spring passed into summer, the time for the princess' coming of age ball approached. One morning, as he sat spinning, he heard a commotion in the village square.

'What's happening?' he asked, joining some of his neighbours in the street.

'The king has made a decree about the princess' coming of age ball,' one of the women said: 'all the eligible men of the realm are invited to attend.'

'What does he mean by eligible, though?' another neighbour asked.

'Unmarried, I suppose,' the first woman said.

'Young and unmarried,' another clarified.

Young, unmarried, and unburdened by poverty and disability, Rumplestiltskin added to himself. That ruled him out. Yes, he was unmarried, but his age, his poverty, and his limp made him ineligible.

Oh, it would be delightful to go and look on from the sidelines. Just the thought of seeing the princess again lifted his heart, but how was he to get there? He had no horse, no means of transport besides his legs, and his ankle would never stand up to the journey. And a ball required suitable clothing, of which he had none. No, there was no way he could go, and it was probably for the best anyway. As much as he wanted to see her again, he knew that if he did, it would just make him long too much for what he could never have. No, best to just treasure the memory of his time with her.

0

Weeks passed and excitement for the ball grew. Young men from far and wide were planning to attend and enjoy themselves with fine food and drink, and of course to bask in the sight of the beautiful princess. Most of them knew they had no chance with the princess, but they still hoped to at least look upon her, and maybe they'd meet a woman who wasn't so far above them in station that they could woo and win.

While most of the men attending were thinking of it as a party, there were a few who thought they would have some chance of catching the fair princess' eye. Jones and Nottingham were among them. Rumplestiltskin had heard them talk about it on more than one occasion and their talk seemed designed to get a response from him. He was determined not to give them the satisfaction.

They were walking through the fields one day while Rumplestiltskin was tending to his sheep and they slowed their steps as they approached. He carried on with his work, guessing what they were about.

'All set for the ball, Spindleshanks?' Nottingham asked.

Rumplestiltskin ignored him.

'Got your dancing shoes all ready?' Jones threw in.

Rumplestiltskin ignored that too.

'We'll be sure to say hello to your princess.'

Rumplestiltskin gripped his staff hard as the two men laughed and walked on.

The thought of those two being near Princess Belle made him feel sick. They weren't worthy of looking on her beautiful face. Not that he was either, but at least he knew how to be respectful: those two didn't, at all. He fervently wished he could protect her from them, but there was no way he could go. It could never be. He told himself to pack his dreams away and be content with his little lot.

0

Belle wished she could run. Three days to the ball and she was sick of the whole thing.

There were five princes staying at her father's castle, each more pompous and insufferable than the last. Her father seriously expected her to choose one of these men for her husband? Well, she wouldn't: her mother wanted her to have her choice and her father had agreed, so she didn't know why he insisted on this elaborate ball.

Still, she was going along with it because she knew it would reunite her with her prince. Every time one of those loud, boorish buffoons came near her, she reminded herself that she would be rid of them soon enough. Just three more days and then she would see her kind, gentle prince once more.

'Are you looking forward to the ball, your highness?' Astrid asked her as she brushed her hair for her on the third evening before the ball.

'I wish it were already over, to be quite honest, Astrid.'

Astrid hummed sympathetically. 'But you might enjoy it after all,' she suggested.

'Perhaps,' Belle agreed. She knew she would enjoy seeing her prince again.

'What about you, Astrid, are you looking forward to it?'

Astrid blushed, but tried to hide it. 'Yes, your highness,' she murmured.

Belle smiled. 'Is there someone you're hoping to dance with?' she asked.

Astrid looked up, alarmed. 'Oh, no, your highness: I'll be far too busy attending on you.'

Belle laughed. 'I'll have plenty of people to attend on me,' she said. 'You can tell me: is there someone you're hoping to dance with?'

Astrid blushed and smiled. 'One of the gardeners has been very attentive to me. He has asked me for a dance.'

'Then you must say yes,' Belle insisted, turning away from the mirror and taking Astrid's hand. 'Astrid, if you're in love, you must do all you can to be with him.'

Astrid smiled at her kind mistress' glowing face. She wondered if the princess was in love too. There was a look in her eyes that Astrid had seen in her own when she looked in the mirror lately. She knew that Princess Belle didn't love any of the idiot princes her father was entertaining, and she was sure she wasn't in love with her friend Will Scarlet. It must be the man on the road, then, the gentle man with the limp. He was a peasant, but what did that matter in the face of True Love? She truly hoped the princess would be able to dance with her love too.

0

The day of the ball dawned warm and fair. The ball wasn't until evening, but everyone was saying it would be daylight until near midnight. It would be a magical night for the ball.

Rumplestiltskin was spending the evening tending his small vegetable garden. He'd wanted to keep busy so that his mind wouldn't wander to a ball that he couldn't attend and a princess he could never lay eyes on again. He was mostly successful, but he sighed sadly now as her face appeared in his mind in all its bright beauty. Oh, gods, how he longed to see her.

Nottingham and Jones had left hours ago with their horses and their finery. To think that they would get the chance to look upon fair Belle and he would not…

He sighed again and then jumped when a voice spoke.

'Might I trouble you for some water, lad? I've walked far and I'm rather thirsty.'

He saw the old woman by the gate, hunched over, a cloak around her withered frame.

He hadn't it in him to refuse charity, especially to one so in need.

'Of course, madam: come in and rest yourself.' And he hurried to get her her water.

The woman opened the gate and stepped in. She kept her hood up, so he could not see her face.

'Too kind, too kind,' she praised, taking the offered cup of water and drinking deeply from it: 'I could only wish others I met on my travels were as kind as you, Rumplestiltskin.'

He started. 'How did you know my name?' he demanded warily.

The old woman chuckled. 'Oh, I've known of you a long time, child.'

Now she lowered her hood and he recognised the old woman from the market, the same woman the princess had helped. Only she seemed not so frail now, more youthful than he remembered, and instead of white hair, she had hair of pale gold. Perhaps it was some trick of the light…

'You're… I met you before,' he said.

'You did,' she agreed, setting the cup down on the step.

'But what are you doing here?' he asked. 'Surely you don't need to work if the princess provides for you?'

'You're right: I don't, and she does, though I'm not actually in need of her charity. Others are, though, and they are grateful.'

'I don't understand. You were starving, weren't you?'

'Not I, lad. That was merely a test.'

He frowned. 'A test? What are you about, madam?'

'The princess' ball is tonight,' she said, changing the subject on him, 'and yet here you are, tending your garden.'

'What has that got to do with anything?' he demanded, getting annoyed. He didn't like the thought that she'd played him and the princess for fools, and now she was reminding him of his sorrow too.

'Oh, everything, my dear.' She smiled. 'She's expecting you, you know. She'll be most unhappy if she doesn't see you.'

'I didn't think you were cruel, madam,' he said quietly, turning away, annoyance giving way to utter despair.

'Oh, child, I'm not here to gloat at your misfortune: I'm here to help you.'

He turned to her and frowned. 'Help? I don't understand.'

'My dear, did you think that kindness such as yours and hers would go unrewarded?'

'I don't…what are you talking about?'

'Do you believe in magic, Rumplestiltskin?' she asked, and she reached into her cloak and pulled out a long stick that glowed gold: a wand.

'You're a…a witch?' he asked, staggering back and staring at the wand with wide eyes; staring, too, at the way her shabby cloak and tattered dress changed to a green gown and darker green cloak.

'I'm a fairy godmother, dear,' she told him: 'yours and the princess'. That day in the market, I brought you together, and now I'm come to ensure you both get your dearest wish.'

He didn't know about the princess, but his dearest wish was to be by her side forever.

He shook his head. 'Don't…don't say things like that. You can't…you can't do such things.'

She looked at him. He looked away, ashamed of his hope, ashamed because he wanted her words to be true: he wanted to be with Belle so dearly…but how could it be? He was a humble spinner and she deserved a prince.

'My dear, don't fret,' she entreated. 'I know what you think. You think you don't deserve her because you're a spinner and she's a princess, but you forget, she saw what you did when you thought I was a poor old woman with not enough food. She saw your kind heart and she recognised that you have more nobility in you than many courtiers. Didn't she give you something to show her appreciation of your kindness?'

'Yes,' he breathed, amazed that she knew of that.

'The shawl her mother made, fashioned from your own cloth and golden thread.'

Rumplestiltskin nodded dumbly. She knew everything, apparently.

'My child, don't you know what it means when maids give such things to men?'

He shook his head.' What?'

The woman smiled. 'Your precious keepsake is more important than you know,' she told him: 'it isn't just a token of her appreciation, it's a token of her love, a sign that her heart is yours.'

He shook his head. 'But it can't be… I'm just… I'm no one.'

She shook her head. 'You're more important than you know, my dear.'

He was shaking his head. 'That's impossible. I'm nobody: I…'

'You'll see, dear: soon enough, you'll understand. Now, let's get you to that ball: she's waiting for you.'

'How can I go to the ball?' he asked, almost exasperated: 'look at me!'

'Easily remedied, dear,' she told him, and a flick of her wand changed his ragged clothing instantly into a royal blue coat with gold brocade trim and gold buttons, a golden waistcoat, a soft white shirt, black breeches, and black boots.

He gasped, trying to take in his appearance.

'And you'll need transportation, of course.'

And now she chose a pumpkin and transformed it into a fine carriage. Then she chose two footmen from among his chickens, four horses from a family of mice that had made a nest in his garden, and transformed a neighbour's goose into a coachman.

'There we are,' she said, well pleased with her work.

Rumplestiltskin stared at her. He was sure this must be some vivid dream he would soon wake up from.

He stepped forward, aware of how awkward he was with his limp in this fine costume.

'Oh, you can hardly dance like that,' she said, and she waved her wand again. 'There, now you'll have one night without that pain.'

He felt the pain in his ankle disappear and he could put weight on it again.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'Put a bit of magic in the boots,' she said. 'As long as you wear them, you'll be able to walk with ease, and dance too.'

'I can't dance,' he said.

'It'll come easy enough when she's in your arms,' she assured him.

'I'm really going to see her?' he asked.

'Well, I didn't do all this so you could stay here and tend your vegetables, dear,' she said, smiling. 'Now, in you get.'

He set down his staff and climbed into the coach, marvelling at the strength in his ankle.

'Wait,' he said, something suddenly occurring to him.

'What is it, dear?'

'There will be men there from my village. They'll know me, even in these fine clothes. They might cause trouble. I don't care what they do to me, but they might upset the princess.'

She nodded. 'I understand.' She waved her wand over him. 'There: now no one but the princess will recognise you.'

'Thank you.'

'There's one thing I must tell you before you go. 'My magic has its limits, I'm afraid, so you must be sure you leave the ball before the last chime of midnight, because then the magic will cease and all will be as it was before.'

He nodded. 'I understand.'

'I wish I could give you longer, dear, but those are the rules.'

He smiled. 'Until midnight is more time than I thought I would ever have with her. I never thought I would see her again at all, so this is more than I could have asked for. Thank you: gods bless you.'

She smiled. 'Gods bless you and keep you, Rumplestiltskin. Good luck with your princess. Now, go: she's waiting for you.'

The carriage sped off and Rumplestiltskin looked out as the countryside seemed to fly by. He could hardly believe this, hardly take it all in. She'd said that he was being rewarded for his kindness to her and this, to see Belle again, was all the reward he could ever wish for. Oh, bless the old lady — fairy godmother — for her generosity.

Soon enough, sooner than he expected, the city of Avonlea came into view. He suspected that magic had sped him here quicker than it ought to have taken, but he could hardly complain, since the clock was just striking nine, which meant he had three hours in which to look upon Belle. It was more than he had ever imagined he would get.

Moments later, the carriage passed through into the palace grounds and he saw the grand palace laid out before him. Oh, it was a beautiful sight. He'd never seen it up close before and it was fine, but even more than that, it was Belle's home: that made it more beautiful to him.

He debouched from the coach and a footman directed him up the steps of the castle. Everyone else seemed to be inside, judging by the noise he heard.

As he reached the door to the ballroom, he held his breath, and then he opened the door and stepped inside.

**So, did anyone guess the old lady was the fairy godmother? We'll be seeing her again in a later chapter. Next time, our lovers meet again. Thanks for reading :)**


End file.
